slain for rowers; also that he might be seen at nights seated on his
horse in armour, and staring about him, as when he directed the battle.
At least it is true that the mount was called King's Grave, and that
people feared to pass it after sundown.

As Jeffrey Stokes was holding his master's stirrup for him to mount,
he uttered an exclamation and pointed. Following the line of his
outstretched hand, in the clear moonlight Sir John saw a man, who sat,
still as any statue, upon a horse on the very point of King's Grave.
He appeared to be covered with a long cloak, but above it his helmet
glittered like silver. Next moment a fringe of black cloud hid the face
of the moon, and when it passed away the man and horse were gone.

"What did that fellow there?" asked Sir John.

"Fellow?" answered Jeffrey in a shaken voice, "I saw none. That was the
Ghost of the Grave. My grandfather met him ere he came to his end in the
forest, none know how, for the wolves, of which there were plenty in
his day, picked his bones clean, and so have many others for hundreds of
years; always just before their doom. He is an ill fowl, that Ghost
of the Grave, and those who clap eyes on him do wisely to turn their
horses' heads homewards, as I would to-night if I had my way, master."

"What use, Jeffrey? If the sight of him means death, death will come.
Moreover, I believe nothing of the tale. Your ghost was some forest
reeve or herdsman."

"A forest reeve or herdsman who wanders about in a steel helm on a fine
horse in snow-time when there are no trees to cut or cattle to mind!
Well, have it as you will, master; only God save me from such reeves and